


the ability to cope gracefully

by Mayhem10



Series: The Traveler's Corner [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Angst, Gen, I'm so glad this tag exists!!, blast from the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 12:38:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16995153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayhem10/pseuds/Mayhem10
Summary: Alfred hasn’t left the manor except for groceries and court hearings in over eight months when Leslie Thompkins arrives at the door, hands him a bag, and unceremoniously kicks him out the house.





	the ability to cope gracefully

Alfred hasn’t left the manor for except for groceries and court hearings in over eight months when Leslie Thompkins arrives at the door, hands him a bag, and unceremoniously kicks him out the house.

“I can watch Bruce for a couple of days,” she says. “You need to stop looking after him for a few seconds and start taking care of yourself, Pennyworth. You’re not going to do any good to anyone if you can’t even keep your eyes open. You look like you were just dragged out of hell.”

It certainly feels like it, he muses a day later as he walks down the streets of Metropolis. 

Even going as far as Gotham’s sister city had been almost more than he could bear, but he had forced himself to do it. Right now Gotham was nothing more than painful memories and the weary acceptance that he had learned in the military when he had watched friend and foe alike walk to their end in service of queen and country. All that is left is the vacant stare of a little boy who can’t understand that his parents are gone. 

However, for now he tries to put it from his mind. Dwelling on tragedy has never done much good in his experience and he can almost hear Leslie in the far distance berating him. He has a ticket in his pocket to Much Ado on Fifth Avenue and it won’t do to be late.

~~

Alfred watches one of his favorite plays and does not laugh once. 

He returns to his hotel and goes to bed.

~~

The next few days go by in much the same manner. 

The trip, rather than giving him time to unburden himself, only draws his attention to how very different things have become since the Waynes’ murder. Little things that once brought him pleasure now leave him with the hollow echo where the feeling once resided in his chest. His mind keeps wandering to Bruce, if he’s alright, if Leslie is making sure he eats, making sure he sleeps, all the things that Bruce must be forced to do now that his parents are no longer there to make such actions feel normal. 

Alfred has never been a father, nor had any particular desire to become one. Being the manor’s caretaker was more than enough for him, despite the fact that it hadn’t been his intention to follow in his father’s footsteps. Now he must walk the line between father figure and employee. It is something that he sincerely doubts he can manage or prepare for.

Rather than continue to frequent the theater or go to visit the museums, Alfred turns to local parks and takes leisurely strolls around the city. Metropolis is a fast-paced city though, and sometimes he finds himself walking rather quickly, as is the case when he hears a voice call out from behind him.

“Sir! Sir, you dropped this!”

Alfred initially ignores the sound, but as the voice gets closer, he stops and turns as a man jogs up behind him, panting a little as he holds out the billfold that must have somehow fallen from his coat pocket. He doesn’t tend to flatter himself but he would have certainly felt a pickpocket should they have tried.

“Thank you, Mr…”

“Just call me John,” the man says with a broad smile, his teeth bright against his dark skin. “I was afraid I wouldn’t catch up with you for a second there.” 

“Ah. Yes, well, thank you for returning this to me. John.” 

He turns and begins to walk along the sidewalk, but is surprised when the man - John - falls in alongside him. Despite the fact that he has no real desire to engage in conversation, he can’t abide being rude, especially to someone who’s done him a favor, so resigned, he opens his mouth only to find himself interrupted before he says a word.

“I know this might be an odd thing to ask, but I have a shop just up around the corner. Would you like to come in and take a look around?” He sounds nervous, as if he already knows the answer and is preparing for rejection. A glance from the corner of Alfred’s eyes shows John’s expression matches how he sounds. It is an odd request, though perhaps the man is simply desperate for customers and taking advantage of a serendipitous situation. Alfred prides himself on being a relatively good judge of character, but you wouldn’t have to be if dealing with a man like John - it’s clear that he simply has no guile. 

However, the fact of the matter is, Alfred has no destination in mind and hasn’t had one the entire time he’s been walking. All of this forced activity is simply a way to keep his mind busy, something he can do just as well in a store as in a park or street. 

“That sounds lovely.”

They walk in companionable silence for a few minutes before John comes to a stop under a small awning, the name of the store rendered illegible through a combination of poor lighting and odd font choice that makes calligraphy look positively print-like.

Were it located in Gotham it would be absolutely charming.

John ushers him inside and Alfred stops just over the threshold, some nameless emotion rising in his chest.

It’s the shape of home. 

Shelves of warm wood, pristine and gleaming, huddle together in the corners to give space to the potted plants scattered throughout the store, each strategically placed to find just enough sunlight to keep them thriving. A spray of violets hangs from the ceiling. Colorful circus posters hang on the walls, pictures of elephants, clowns, and acrobats dancing around the room. Alfred had thought about running away to join the circus for a while as a child - going into the family business had been singularly unappealing - but eventually decided that health insurance would be better in the military. Surprisingly, many of the skills he’d learned for his possible career as a tightrope performer were quite useful in the intelligence division.

He is so absorbed in memories that he’s almost forgotten John is there when the other man says, “Isn’t she lovely?” He’s beaming with pride as he looks to Alfred, who can’t help but nod in agreement. “Recently remodeled. _Very_ recently.”

He seems to expect some sort of reply so Alfred says politely, “I quite like the decor. You made some wonderful choices.”

“Wasn’t me,” is John’s odd response. He walks over to the counter and Alfred absently follows, still absorbing the details of the shop as they become evident.

“So,” John says, tilting his head and bracing his hands against the countertop. “I’m usually pretty good at guessing the right section for people to look in. You strike me as someone who would need something small, so I’d stay out of the Cart area.” He hums. “Probably the Armload area, too. Why don’t you start in the Knick-Knack section?” he suggests, pointing to a group of four sizable shelves to Alfred’s right. “I’ll bet myself five bucks you find something there.”

“Alright,” Alfred says bemusedly.

What a strange fellow, he thinks as he slowly picks his way through the eclectic selection of items. There doesn’t seem to be any organizational system in place except that all the items _are_ of similar size, a notably odd way of setting up a place of business. He glances over and raises an eyebrow. John has pulled out a pile of wire and seems to be attempting a detangling expedition, humming angrily under his breath as he does so.

Yes, certainly an strange fellow. 

However, there must be something to be said for mindlessly looking through random items. It’s relaxing. Despite John’s joke, Alfred doesn’t feel any pressure to actually buy anything, and indeed many of the products are things that aren’t in the slightest bit tempting, if entertaining to fiddle with. He wastes a good five minutes attempting to solve a Rubix cube before realizing that someone had switched two of the stickers. He chuckles as he puts it back, making sure to mix it up again.

He’s made it through three of the shelves and is maybe a third of the way through the last when he stops.

There, sitting innocuously on one of the shelves, is a strip of black fabric. It slips gently against his fingers as he picks it up. 

When he came on in service to the Waynes, he, unlike his father, chose to wear an ascot tie. A formal one because he was taking on the role of butler, but the smooth line of a black straight tie down his chest had always annoyed him with its overt properness and sheer lack of character. The ascot at least had a bit of flair. His father on the other hand had worn a straight tie every moment he was in uniform and had labasted Alfred the first time he had seen his son wear an ascot, bemoaning the decline of respectable neckwear. Alfred had never seen his father in anything but a straight tie throughout his entire life. Never except once.

The Waynes had been throwing a grand party for one of their charities and Alfred, on one of his shorter leaves, had stopped over out of a sense of obligation. It _had_ been over a year since he’d seen his father in person and he liked the Waynes as well. 

He’d walked into the kitchen through the service entrance, nodding politely to the staff bustling away at the stoves and counters as he made his way to the entrance hall where he knew his father would be. Of course he was correct. Where else could the head of staff be except at the helm of the ship, directing traffic through the manor as staff, frenzied, worked to finish setting up.

“Father,” Alfred had called to his back and when his father turned around, Alfred had actually stopped in surprise.

His father was wearing a bowtie.

Alfred had stared and his father had looked at him impatiently. “Yes, Alfred,” he’d said reproachfully, “hello. What _are_ you staring at?”

Alfred had pointed at the tie. His father had looked down. “Oh,” he’d said.

And then he had laughed, a loud laugh that had sent Alfred into a cascade of chuckles himself. It was one of the few moments throughout Alfred’s life that they had laughed together. For the rest of the night, whenever his father had pursed his lips at Alfred’s formal ascot, Alfred had raised an eyebrow and pointedly looked at his father’s throat where the bowtie rested, enjoying the slight twitch of his father’s lips that followed each time. 

There is very little laughter in his life right now.

John calls out from the counter where he is frowning down at a tangle of wire that has not gotten any less muddled since he started, “How’re you doing over there, sir? Need help with anything?”

“I don’t believe so,” answers Alfred, walking over to the register with the silk tie in his hand. John looks up from the wire and grins, yanking his hands free with a shake.

“Great! I just knew you would find something - you have that look about you, you know?”

Alfred does not know but nods in agreement anyway. John takes the tie from him and looks at the tag as he enters in the cost. 

“That’ll be $14.99.”

Alfred raises an eyebrow. A tie of that quality would usually go for a much higher price in a department store, not even mentioning the exorbitant prices that one can stumble across in a tailor shop. John apparently can read minds because he grins conspiratorially and says sotto-voce, “We don’t do rebates.”

Alfred can’t help but let out snort of laughter at that, and John beams at him as he pulls out a bag. 

“I’ll pack it up for you real quick, okay.”

“I should probably pay you first,” Alfred says dryly, pulling out the wallet that John had returned to him on the street. John chuckles sheepishly. 

“Ah, right, I always forget about that part.”

“That seems like an important thing to remember,” Alfred says, handing over three five dollar bills. He waves off an offer of change. One cent isn’t worth adding to his coin purse.

John shrugs. “Things work out how they’re supposed to work out. Haven’t had any problems yet.” He looks thoughtful. “Though that turn of events probably has more to do with my wife than me.”

Alfred smiles as he imagines the type of woman a man like this would marry. “Give her my greetings and appreciation. She must do a good job to help you run such a lovely store.”

John’s teeth are blinding as he grins. “I’ll do that. And you have a great day, sir. I hope your tie comes in handy.”

Alfred looks down at the small bag he carries. “I’m sure it will. You can always find an occasion for a bowtie.”

~~

A sigh of relief escapes him when he walks through the doors of the manor. Leslie had given him updates and assured him that the world had not collapsed while he was away, but the anxiety over Bruce was something he imagined he would feel for the rest of his life.

Leslie leaves once he arrives, giving him a brief hug. He wants to go and find Bruce right away, but makes himself go to his quarters to unpack and change. He is putting on his uniform when he hesitates, his ascot in his hand. Instead, he reaches into the front pocket of his suitcase and pulls out the strip of black silk he’d bought at John’s shop. 

He doesn’t need to guess where Bruce is - the boy hasn’t left his room voluntarily since he came home from the police station all those months ago. 

Alfred knocks on the door. When no response comes, he opens it, stepping into the room.

Bruce is sitting in the chair by his window, his feet pulled up underneath his legs. He doesn’t turn around.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says gently, “it’s time for dinner.”

Bruce doesn’t turn around, his eyes empty as he continues to look out over the manor grounds.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says again, firmly and without quarter.

Finally, Bruce turns his head and looks at Alfred, apathy sunken into the curves of his face. He just looks at Alfred for a moment, no expression or movement. Then his brow furrows, the first hint of emotion he’s expressed in months. 

“Alfred?” 

Bruce’s voice cracks a bit, but that’s not shocking given the frequency of conversation he’s engaged in. Alfred barely manages to hide his surprise as he replies, “Yes, Master Bruce?”

“...You’re wearing a bowtie.”

Alfred looks down at the black silk knotted around his throat. “Ah,” he says. There’s no meaningful response he can think to give so he mentally shrugs and drolly adds, “You are a master of deduction, young sir.”

And Bruce, curled up in his chair, for the first time in eight months, smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> For readers of my main Traveler's Corner story, I hope you enjoy this look into Alfred's past experience with the shop. Alfred is such an interesting character and his bowtie is so iconic, plus is butler-ness is just, so entertaining, I love his understated snark! 
> 
> Feel free to leave any comments or kudos - I love hearing from y'all! ^_^


End file.
